Timewatch by Linda Grant Page B

where a man might make his mark stirred my imagination to fever pitch, so that one evening over our brandies I exclaimed that I must see for myself what manner of place this New World might be.
    The world I had known had been abruptly ripped from me, my father—probably dead now—and my sister lost to me because of the hated Cromwell. Many a time I thought of writing to Susanna, but in the end I did not. She would be better off forgetting about a brother who, without money or even a home, could not provide for her. Aunt Arabella would see to Susanna’s needs and marry her off to some suitable young man. For these reasons, I believed myself free to make my fortune in the New World, which must prove more hospitable than the old one.
    Coolhaas was not so sanguine about my prospects. He tried to stifle my enthusiasm by saying that the New World was a place only for the stout of heart and body. Dangers abounded from aborigines, wild animals, and even the bitter winters that some said could freeze a man’s blood within a very short time if he should go unprotected.
    At last, seeing it was impossible to dissuade me from my course, he said, “I have a ship lately come into harbor, on which you may, if it please you, take passage to the West Indies. My agent there has a son whom he wishes to be tutored. If you are interested, I will recommend you for the position to him.”
    I was agreeable, and so it came to pass that shortly thereafter I set sail in one of the merchant’s ships bound for the New World.
    Of that long and bitter journey I will say little, except to say that I had never seen more at one time of human suffering. The passengers suffered miseries from brackish water and maggoty food, which was hardly fit for pigs, never mind human beings, and from being crowded together—the sick with the well—with no privacy for weeks on end. By the end of seven weeks, some of the youngest children had died. To see their poor little bodies thrown overboard was enough to set the strongest man to weeping.
    I admit to spending most of my time in the only cabin besides the captain’s in a kind of semi-stupor from drinking the rum and wine and partaking of the provisions, which Coolhaas had thoughtfully provided for my comfort.
    When I sought to allay the pangs of my conscience by sharing some of my food with a child and his mother (a young woman whose bearing and features reminded me of Susanna), the captain called me a bloody fool for not saving what I would need later. As Providence would have it, both the woman and her son died.
    My health, although taxed by the voyage, remained good. With thanks to God, I landed in the West Indies, where I speedily sought out the gentleman to whom Nicholas Coolhaas had given me a letter of introduction. My plan was to earn some money by tutoring the agent’s son and, after I had learned somewhat of the country, seek out other possibilities for earning a livelihood. Little did I know then what difficulties awaited one so naive as I was.
    The writing stopped. Geraldine took off her reading glasses and drew a slow breath. She had hoped that Jeremy’s memoir might give her some clue as why, according to Caleb, Jeremy had insisted that the Morgans meet together or else face the extinction of their timeline. That sounded so far-fetched. The one good thing, though, was the opportunity to visit San Francisco.
    And then there was Dan, not really her type, but an intriguing man, competent in his own way—look how he had taken charge on the yacht and defused that bomb—but not someone she would ordinarily have been interested in. Not that she was really interested, just … intrigued.
    He was so different from Charles, who had led her to believe that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and then left her because he said she was having trouble fully committing herself to him. But she was 29 years old, not some silly teenager prone to gushing over